Y'Goin' for a Pint?
by cyberwulf
Summary: Basically, various people are caught doing something they really shouldn't be doing, much to the embarrassment of certain other people. IT'S DONE! IT'S DONE! The boys wake up and it's not a pretty sight...
1. Chapter 1: Drunkenness abounds

Y'Goin' for a Pint ?  
  
By Cyberwulf  
  
Rated 12s (PG-13)  
  
Spoilers : One teensy one for 'Band Candy' and that episode where Buffy has psychic powers.  
  
Disclaimer : Buffy, Angel and related characters belong to Joss Whedon and various other people who aren't me. The show 'Cops' also does not belong to me. The song "Never Shove a Cracker" is property of Double Z Productions.  
  
Summary : The idea for this fanfic is a bit of a cliché, but what the hell. Basically, various people are caught doing something they really shouldn't be doing, much to the anger/embarrassment of certain other people. Confused yet? Wait...  
  
"All right, Angel, you can do this," Angel slurred to himself, stifling a hiccup. He got the key in the ignition on the fifth try and drove off very slowly.  
  
*Warning: The author would like to inform all teenagers and young adults that trying to drive a car while completely legless is a bloody stupid thing to do.*  
  
Buffy flopped down on the couch and grabbed a handful of popcorn.  
  
"Hey!" Xander exclaimed indignantly. "HEY!" he yelled again as Cordelia followed suit.  
  
"It's great to see you again, Cordelia," Willow said. "How's LA?"  
  
Cordelia shrugged. "Better than this backwater burg, that's for sure," she said, adding quickly, "No offence."  
  
"So what's on TV?" Buffy asked.  
  
" 'Sunnydale Cops - Live'," Xander replied with a grin. As the girls groaned in unison, he flicked on the TV set.  
  
"Live from Sunnydale - Cops!" the announcer declared. The picture zoomed in on a familiar black car, weaving slowly all over the road.  
  
"Isn't that Spike's car?" Willow remarked.  
  
"Shit," Angel burped, seeing the blue lights in the rear-view mirror. He pulled over and the front wheel of the car went into a ditch.  
  
"Fuck," he murmured as the patrolman approached. He turned to the others. "Now jus' - just let me do the talking, cuz I'm the most sober, okay?"  
  
"We're intercepting a suspected drunk driver," the patrolman's partner explained. The Scoobies watched in a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.  
  
Angel shrank into the seat. The patrolman knocked on the window. Angel rolled it down and gave the cop a nervous smile.  
  
"Hi, I'm Sergeant Dawson, could you step out of the car, please, sir?"  
  
Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia prepared themselves for the emergence of Spike's bleach blonde hair. Instead a taller, dark-haired man opened the door and stood up very carefully. He leaned against the car, swaying gently from side to side.  
  
"Oh...my...God," Buffy murmured as she recognised her former boyfriend. Cordelia cringed. Willow gaped. Xander grinned.  
  
"Is this your vehicle, sir?" Dawson asked.  
  
"Uh...uh no," Angel replied. Then, seeing the cop's expression, he added quickly, "Uh, I mean yes. I mean, uh...it's his."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"His," Angel repeated, indicating the car. "Spike's."  
  
The patrolman leaned in and took a look through the window. There were four other occupants of the car. The one in the front seat was glaring at him menacingly. Of the three in the back, one looked positively ill, one was grinning like a moron, and the other was struggling not to giggle madly. There were a lot of empty liquor bottles on the floor, and some fast food papers thrown around.  
  
"Which one of you is Spike?" the cop asked.  
  
One of them gave the sick-looking one a nudge with his elbow. The sick one groaned and raised a hand.  
  
"I'm gonna have to ask all of you to step out of the vehicle," the patrolman declared. The cameraman got out of the car to film the scene more clearly. Buffy and the others watched, transfixed, as the other passengers emerged. A small, dark haired man staggered out of the passenger side.  
  
"Doyle!" Cordelia exclaimed in shock.  
  
Spike crawled out of the rear driver's door. He hauled himself upright, and put one hand on his stomach, groaning.  
  
"He looks really bad," Willow murmured.  
  
The other rear door opened, and a bespectacled figure rolled out and fell in the ditch. For some reason, he found this hysterical.  
  
"WESLEY?!" Cordelia exclaimed in even more shock.  
  
"Hey, this is getting good!" Xander declared, shoving popcorn in his mouth.  
  
The last passenger emerged from the same side as Wesley. He came out very slowly and walked unsteadily around to the driver's side. He nearly slipped when he got there and hung onto the car's roof, grinning like an idiot.  
  
"Oh God, Giles," Buffy moaned softly.  
  
"I'm assuming none of you are fit to drive this car," Dawson declared.  
  
"No, no, no," Giles replied, "I can drive, no, I'm perfectly capable, give me a sobriety test, go on..."  
  
The patrolman sighed. He turned to his partner. "Okay, Eddie, get the tape -"  
  
"Where's me jelly?" Doyle yelled suddenly. "Where's me SHAGGIN' jelly?!" He dived back into the car. "Get the jelly..."  
  
His sudden movement caused both cops to draw their guns.  
  
"Step outta the vehicle!" the patrolman bawled. Doyle emerged, glowering and munching on a packet of ready-made jelly (the kind where all you have to do is melt it in boiling water and then reset it). The cops put their guns away.  
  
"Could be drugs," Dawson declared. "I better search the car." He turned to Angel. "Would you turn over your keys, sir?"  
  
Angel felt in all his pockets.  
  
"Uh...I do-(hic) don't have 'em," Angel replied. Dawson reached into the car and took the keys out of the ignition. He went around to the boot.  
  
"You can't do that!" Angel shouted . "Sarcastic Dan's in there!" The cop opened the boot and found a crate of jelly inside, the kind Doyle was chewing. He cast a look of suspicion at Angel, and then searched the rest of the car.  
  
Eddie went round to the boot of the squad car and came back with a roll of white tape. As Giles watched, he marked out a straight line on the hard shoulder with it.  
  
"Could you walk along that line please, sir," he said to Giles. Frowning in intense concentration, Giles gazed at the line for quite a while, and then looked up at the cop.  
  
"Now look here," he slurred, "if you want me to walk along this line, you could at least have the - the decency, to tell it to stop moving about all over the place..." He fell back against Spike's car. In the ditch, Wesley, who had calmed down to a kind of quiet chuckling, burst into hysterics again.  
  
"Ohhhh," Spike groaned loudly. "Ohhhh, sick...with...drink..." He hiccupped . "Ohhhh, my tummy..."  
  
"Well that's what you get for eating all those burgers, m'dear," Giles remarked.  
  
Sergeant Dawson took a last look at the empty liquor bottles strewn around the car.  
  
"You boys wouldn't happen to know anything about a mini-mall that was ram- raided earlier tonight, would you?" he asked.  
  
"LOOOK at, my new hat!" Wesley sang. The camera panned onto him. He was dancing around near the edge of the ditch with a traffic cone on his head. Suddenly he danced a little too close, wobbled all over the place, and fell backwards into the ditch. There was a pause, and then more hysterical laughter.  
  
"I'm gonna have to take all your names," Dawson announced.  
  
"Angel," Angel said.  
  
"Your REAL name?" the cop replied.  
  
"Uh...Angel?"  
  
"Spi-ike," Spike moaned.  
  
"Right," Dawson answered, beginning to get just a little bit pissed off. He walked over to the ditch. "And what's your name, huh?"  
  
"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce!" Wesley called out giddily.  
  
Dawson frowned. He was getting a little bit tired of this. "How about you?" he asked Doyle. Doyle just glared.  
  
"That's Doyle," Angel hiccupped.  
  
"What , doesn't he have a first name?"  
  
Angel looked at Wesley-or, in Wesley's direction. Wesley looked in Angel's direction. They both shrugged.  
  
"FRANNO!" Doyle shouted. "BRANCH!"  
  
He wolfed down the last of the jelly. Dawson stared at him for almost a minute before he turned to the last member of the group.  
  
"Rupert Giles," Giles declared. As the cop wrote it down, he asked, "D-do you have a daughter? Late teens, early twenties?"  
  
"Actually I do," Dawson answered.  
  
"Ah, yes, I thought so," Giles replied, with a Ripper-esque grin. "I recognise the name..."  
  
"Hmm, never heard that one before," Dawson remarked, deadpan, as Giles started laughing at his pitiful attempt to piss off a traffic cop.  
  
"No you should never shove a CRACKER up your ARSE on Hallowe'en," Doyle roared suddenly, "It's not clever, IT'S not funny, some think it's quite obscene..."  
  
"I do NOT believe this is happening," Cordelia muttered.  
  
"Hey," Xander remarked. "Where's Angel?"  
  
They had their answer as, in the background, Angel staggered over to the patrol car and stood there with his back to them and his hands in front of him for quite a while.  
  
"He's not doing what I think he's doing, is he?" Willow asked.  
  
"This just gets better and better!" Xander guffawed.  
  
"Are you all right, sir?" Dawson asked Spike, who was holding his stomach and looking decidedly green. Suddenly he caught sight of Angel. "Hey, hey, hey!"  
  
Angel zipped up his pants and glanced over his shoulder.  
  
"Do you mind? I'd like some privacy!"  
  
"That does it, I'm taking all of these jokers in," Dawson declared. "Eddie, get Laughing Boy out of the gully." He approached Doyle, grabbed his wrists and handcuffed him. Eddie hauled a completely legless Wesley up to the road and made him lean on the bonnet of the patrol car while he handcuffed him. Dawson approached Spike. The vampire gave a final groan and threw up all over him.  
  
"What's the difference between you lot, vump vump,  
  
And a bucket of sick?" Wesley sang, giggling. "The bucket!"  
  
Angel seemed genuinely surprised when Eddie cuffed him. He looked at Doyle, who was being brought over to the patrol car.  
  
"What's happening?"  
  
"They'll never silence our song of freedom!" the half-demon bawled. "Come on! LOOOWWWW, LIEEEEE, DE FIEEELLLDS, OF ATHENRYYYY..."  
  
Angel joined in.  
  
"WHERE ONCE, WE WATCHED, THE SMAAALL FREEBIRDS FLYYY."  
  
"HEY BABY LET THE FREEBIRDS FLY!"  
  
Both were bundled into the car. Spike was cuffed and he and Wesley were shoved into a second car that had just arrived. Giles was last. He was being put into the car with Spike and Wesley when the trio noticed the camera.  
  
"We're on telly!" Wesley shouted giddily. He began to laugh again. "Bottom!"  
  
"Urrrgh..." Spike leaned forward and got sick all over the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry I shagged your mum, Buffy," Giles hiccupped, "but I was just so desperately horny, and she was gagging for it..."  
  
The cops pushed him in and shut the door.  
  
Xander turned off the TV, slightly stunned. Willow and Cordelia looked at Buffy, who was sitting with her face buried in her hands. Slowly, she looked up.  
  
"See if you can scrape together some bail money," she sighed. "We're going down to the station." 


	2. Chapter 2: Posting bail

Y'Goin' for a Pint ?  
  
Chapter Two: In which Angel gets back to his Irish roots and Wesley finds himself in a tight place  
  
By Cyberwulf  
  
Rated 12s (PG-13)  
  
Spoilers : None in this part.  
  
Disclaimer : Buffy, Angel and related characters belong to Joss Whedon and various other people who aren't me. The song "Never Shove a Cracker" is property of Double Z Productions. The song "Elevation" belongs to U2. The . . . Christy Moore song (don't know the title, sorry) belongs to Christy Moore. Anto . . . eh, he's a stereotype, and is not meant to represent Dublin people in general. So don't get your knickers in a knot over it.  
  
Author's Notes : Thank you for the reviews, I did read them all, I love feedback! Some people wanted me to continue, some wanted an explanation of why and how the gang ended up all together and drunk. I've put in a vague explanation - I might do a flashback, or a prologue at a later stage. It depends on the Demon Mews - it's extremely fickle.  
  
The other thing - Angel is originally from Galway (that's the only reason I find him even vaguely interesting), so, being Irish myself, I have him get a bit Irish in this fic. As a result, some of the exchanges between Angel and Doyle (who I don't know very well, sorry if he's out of character) may not make sense to the vast majority of you who don't hail from the Emerald Isle. It's not that important and shouldn't interfere with your enjoyment of this chapter. Speaking of which . . .  
  
"But officer, you've gotta let us bail them out!" Willow pleaded.  
  
"Sorry," the desk sergeant replied. "Two of them refused to give their real names." He looked down at the report in front of him. " 'Angel' and 'Spike'."  
  
"But Angel IS his real name!" Buffy told him. "Angel . . . Jones!"  
  
"A-and Spike's real name is William!" Willow declared. "William . . . uh . . . Jones."  
  
"He's his brother," Cordelia said, just as Buffy said, "He's his dad."  
  
"Dad's cousins," Xander added quickly. The cop looked at them blankly. Xander squirmed, and shrugged his shoulders. "They were in a car crash together . . ."  
  
The cop's watch beeped.  
  
"It's not my problem any more," he declared. "As of now, I'm officially off- duty." He got up and left the room. A younger cop, who was sitting at a desk behind and to the left of him, casually swung back and forth on his swivel chair. He caught the gang looking at him in a mixture of hope and despair.  
  
"Don't look ah' me," he declared in a very strong Dublin accent. "No'hin' I can do abour' ih'."  
  
"Now what?" Cordelia growled.  
  
"Trick or treatin', pumpkin eatin', scary witch's cat-" Doyle roared from the cells. The young Dublin cop sat up.  
  
"Hould on a minute-"  
  
"-better give us money missus or we'll DUMP on your doormat, bobbin' apples, SHAGGIN' cows, there's games for old and young, BUT DON'T STICK A FOREIGN OBJECT UP YER BUM!"  
  
"Are they the ones yeh want ta post bail for?" the cop asked, with a look of disbelief. The Scoobies nodded. The cop got up, grabbed a bunch of keys and made for the cells, following the raucous singing.  
  
"No you should never shove a CRACKER up your ARSE on Hallowe'en, it's not clever, IT'S not funny, some think it's quite obscene, no you should never shove a CRACKER up your ARSE on HALLOWE'EN, FOR YOU'LL ONLY BLOW YOUR HOLE TO SMITHEREENS!"  
  
In the cell, Doyle came to the end of his song. Angel applauded enthusiastically. Wesley was in hysterics. Spike was still very off-colour, and the cuffs of his jeans were delicately encrusted with puke. Giles was lying on a bunk, staring at the ceiling and grinning madly. The cop stared at Doyle in disbelief.  
  
"Franno!"  
  
Doyle turned around, nearly fell, squinted at the cop, and recognised him. He staggered over to the bars.  
  
"Anto!"  
  
The two men shook hands.  
  
"Story," Doyle asked.  
  
"Ah, ya know, de usual," Anto replied. "Bleedin' typical, I come over to the States ta get away from de recession, and all of a sudden there's a boom back home. How's yerself?"  
  
"Oh, deadly buzz," Doyle replied. "Look, you couldn't be a pal and let us outa here, could ya? We weren't doin' any harm and you can keep the car."  
  
"Well . . ."  
  
"Ah go on," Doyle said. "For Granny's sake."  
  
"All right," Anto replied. "Here, give us the bail money," he said to Buffy. The Scoobies were standing there, collectively blinking in confusion and amazement.  
  
"Here you go," Buffy replied, stunned.  
  
"Lovely," Anto said, giving it a quick glance. "I hate this job," he remarked conspiratorially. "I'm tryin' ta get fired." He unlocked the cell door. Angel gave Giles a shove, and the Watcher stood up shakily. He pulled Wesley to his feet. Angel gave Spike a hand, and the group shuffled out.  
  
"Good luck now!" Anto called as they left the station.  
  
Once outside, Buffy really let rip.  
  
"I'm shocked and disgusted by all of you!" she roared. She glared at her ex- Watcher. He just stared back blankly. "But ESPECIALLY you! How DARE you go and blurt that out on national TV?! What the HELL did you think you were doing?!"  
  
"Well . . . it . . . it's Friday night," Giles hiccupped, getting tearful. Buffy rolled her eyes. "And the guys asked me out . . . and it's not like I've got anything ELSE to do . . . I don't even have a girlfriend . . ." He stumbled and ended up leaning heavily against Willow. "Why don't I have a girlfriend? I'd look great with a girlfriend . . ."  
  
"Sure you would," Willow soothed, shooting an anguished glance at Buffy, Cordelia and Xander.  
  
"LOOOOW, LIEEEE, THE EEEEAAAAT, THE SHAGGIN' JELLY," Doyle bawled, pulling another packet of jelly out of his pocket. He ripped it open. "EEEV'RYBODYYY, EEEAAAAT THE JELLYYY, NOOOW!" He tried to shove a handful into Cordelia's mouth. Cordelia gave a shriek and pushed him roughly into Angel. Wesley fell off the path and rolled into the gutter, and began to laugh again.  
  
"I canNOT believe you guys!" Cordelia exclaimed. "We leave you alone for an evening and you - how did this even HAPPEN anyway??"  
  
Angel blinked a couple of times, and had a really good think. This wasn't easy because his brain was swimming in whiskey, vodka, Guinness, meths, lighter fuel and Malibu, not to mention the fact that there were several Thin Lizzie tracks running around in his head, too, but finally he managed to come up with some sort of coherent sentence . . .  
  
"Uh . . .'s Doyle's fault, he said I should get back to my Irish roots," he slurred.  
  
"Are you sayin' we're a nation a' DRUNKS?" Doyle asked fiercely, grabbing Angel by the shirt. " Are ya startin' some'in? Are ya?!"  
  
"Fuck off," Angel hiccupped, putting one hand on Doyle's forehead and pushing him off. Doyle fell over Wesley and almost joined him on the ground.  
  
"I never said ya should go out and get locked," he growled. "I just meant sing a few songs, like."  
  
"IT'S A LONG WAAAYY, TO TIPPERARRYYYY, IT'S A LONG WAAAAY, TO GOOO . . ." Spike yelled.  
  
"NO!" Doyle roared. "I shaggin' well HATE Tipp! Smug bastards! Up the Sky- Blues!"  
  
Angel snorted in disgust.  
  
"Dubs, you're RUBBISH!" he sneered. "On the Tribesmen!"  
  
"We'll see who gets to Croke Park this year!" Doyle yelled.  
  
Buffy tapped her foot impatiently.  
  
"I don't CARE!" she shouted. "Now someone tell me how the HELL all this happened!"  
  
"Well," Giles slurred, unable to keep the stupid grin off his face, "I distinctly remember jumping into Spike's car with Wesley, only Angel was driving, and we went to some bars but we didn't have a lot of money, so first we tried drink and dash, but there's a problem with drink and dash . . ."  
  
"What's that?" Willow asked. Doyle obligingly ran up the street, but didn't get more than a couple of feet before collapsing in a heap.  
  
"Then - then we got kicked out of someplace, I don't know why, and the car went through the window of an off license . . ."  
  
". . . and I did one of my hobbies . . ." Wesley giggled.  
  
". . . which is SHOPLIFTING!" the five finished in unison.  
  
"Then Spike did dine and dash at a chipper," Giles declared, "and he was so hungry so he ordered two of everything . . ."  
  
Spike promptly puked again, narrowly missing Xander.  
  
". . . because he'd been smoking grass with me . . ."  
  
"You're HIGH?!" Buffy yelled.  
  
"Not as high as Wesley," Giles giggled. "He ate most of my stash!"  
  
"WHAT?!" Cordelia exclaimed. She rushed over to Wesley.  
  
"Oh, so the cops wouldn't find it?" Xander asked.  
  
Giles looked at him, puzzled. "Eh?"  
  
Cordelia was struggling to get Wesley to his feet.  
  
"I wet myself!" he yelled gleefully. Cordelia leaned away in disgust.  
  
"You're gonna be so hung over tomorrow," she growled, "and I'm gonna laugh so hard -"  
  
Buffy grabbed Angel by his shirt, struggling not to throttle him. "Why ?" she yelled. "Why with the drinking? Why with the stealing? Why with SPIKE?"  
  
Angel looked at her as if she'd gone mad.  
  
"We HAD to bring Spike!" he exclaimed. "If we didn't bring SPIKE, there wouldn't be five of us." He staggered away from her and helped Doyle up. Buffy threw up her hands. Doyle and Angel looked at each other for a couple of seconds, and then, at the same instant, yelled,  
  
"EL-E-VAY-TION!"  
  
There came the sound of glass being broken. Xander, Willow, Cordelia and Buffy turned around. Spike was smashing up a telephone box.  
  
"We don't need no education," he chanted demonically. "We don't need no thought control."  
  
Buffy ran over to try and drag him away. Fortunately it wasn't too difficult, as the bleach blonde vampire was very unsteady on his feet. He took a few last swings as she pulled him back over to the other side of the street.  
  
"I HATE THOSE THINGS!" he bawled. "Poxy little blue FLOWERS!" His stomach made an ominous gurgling sound and Buffy got out of his way very quickly.  
  
"Okay," Cordelia said, "it's REALLY time you guys -"  
  
"Look everyone, look!" Wesley called. He was holding a small wooden garden gate with some of the bars missing. He stuck his head through one of the holes and danced around a bit. "I feel like veal tonight, like veal tonight."  
  
"Take that off!" Cordelia hissed, looking around. "You'll get in trouble!"  
  
Wesley pushed at the gate a few times. It didn't budge.  
  
"I'm stuck!" he cackled.  
  
" A MOLE, DIGGIN' IN A HOLE, DIGGIN' UP MY SOUL NOW GOIN' DOWN EXCAVATION . . ." Angel bellowed in his best Bono voice. Wesley laughed even harder and fell in a heap again. Xander and Cordelia crouched down and tried to pull the gate off him.  
  
"Hole, hole, hole hole hole," Wesley giggled gleefully, now mentally back to being a six-year-old. Xander broke off some more of the wood and he and Cordelia managed to lift the gate off Wesley. They hauled him to his feet just in time to see Spike stagger straight into an open manhole. Wesley tried, but he couldn't help himself and collapsed into hysterics for the umpteenth time.  
  
"Man, you just can't control that face tonight, can you?" Xander remarked. Angel staggered to the edge of the manhole and shouted down at his grandchilde.  
  
"Y'okay?"  
  
"Yeah," came the shout. "It's out of the sun, and I needed to take a crap anyway."  
  
"We better get these guys to bed before anything else happens," Willow declared.  
  
"I'll take Doyle and Angel back to the mansion," Cordelia declared.  
  
"I'll help," Xander added.  
  
The girls looked at him.  
  
"Hey, this might be the only time Mr. 'Chicks-love-me-cos-I'm-all-dark-and- broody' makes an ass of himself," Xander explained. He grinned. "And I'm seeing it through to the very end."  
  
"I'll take Wesley," Willow announced. She let go of Giles, leaving him to Buffy, and put an arm around Wesley's waist. "He's crashing at Giles' place, right?"  
  
"Uh-huh," Cordelia replied. "Come on, guys," she said to Angel and Doyle. "Time to go home . . ." She steered them towards the mansion. The girls heard Angel's voice ring through the night.  
  
"And as I looked up at the Guinness ad, I could never figure out,  
  
How your man stayed up on the surfboard after forty pints o' stout . . ."  
  
"Let's go," Buffy snarled. Willow kept quiet as they headed for Giles' apartment. Her friend was in a foul mood. They managed to get down the steps without anyone falling and splitting their skulls open, even though Buffy looked like she was just about ready to hurl her former Watcher (or maybe both of them) down a staircase. She managed to get the front door open. Giles was barely across the threshold when he fell against her and slid to the floor.  
  
"Great," Buffy growled. She put him in the fireman's lift and carried him upstairs, swearing under her breath. Willow helped Wesley into the lounge and made him lie on the sofa. He watched disinterestedly as she took off his tie and glasses and undid the first two buttons on his shirt.  
  
"Wha's happening?" he slurred.  
  
"It's time for bed!" Willow replied, in a perky babysitter voice, which she instantly regretted.  
  
"Okay," Wesley sighed. Willow bit her lip to keep from smiling. He actually looked kind of cute, flushed from alcohol with his hair plastered against his forehead. Wesley closed his eyes. Willow went upstairs to find a blanket.  
  
Buffy angrily heaved Giles onto his bed. He opened his eyes.  
  
"You're mad with me," he murmured in surprise. Buffy clenched her fists.  
  
"I have NEVER," she hissed, "been so EMBARRASSED in my ENTIRE LIFE!"  
  
"Oh don't worry, love," Giles slurred. "Whatever you did, they'll all have forgotten about it in a few weeks . . ."  
  
He passed out again and started to snore, and if Willow hadn't come into the room right then, Buffy the Vampire Slayer would have become Buffy the Murderer. 


	3. Chapter 3: Silly shenanigans

Y'Goin' for a Pint ?  
  
Chapter Three: Sandwiches, Satellites, Shenanigans and Soaked Spike  
  
By Cyberwulf  
  
Rated 12s (PG-13)  
  
Spoilers : None in this part.  
  
Disclaimer : Buffy, Angel and related characters belong to Joss Whedon and various other people who aren't me. "The Boys are Back in Town" belongs to Thin Lizzie. "Ace of Spades" belongs to Motorhead. "Paradise City" belongs to Guns 'n' Roses. Doyle's description of hurling is taken from The Jason Byrne Show.  
  
Author's Notes : Thanks again all you lovely people for your lovely feedback! You gave me a lot of inspiration for this chapter. Once again, I apologise if Doyle is wildly out of character – I don't know him well at all, having only seen half an episode of Angel (it was that one about the red demons who wanted to eat him or something). Just put it down to him being very drunk. For the majority of you who aren't Irish, hurling IS a real game, RTE is Ireland's national broadcasting service, and they don't broadcast on satellite, which makes what Angel and Doyle do in this chapter even more ridiculous. Oh, there's a teensy bit of Buffy bashing at the start of this chapter, because she gets on my nerves sometimes. And speaking of the start . . .  
  
"We should turn him onto his stomach," Willow remarked, gazing at the Watcher, who was now drooling as well as snoring. "In case he chokes."  
  
Buffy glared at her, then stomped off downstairs. Willow ran to the top of the staircase and called after her.  
  
"Hey! Where you going?"  
  
"If you wanna stay here and play nurse then go ahead!" Buffy shouted, in that self-righteous 'I'm the Slayer and I'm better than everyone else and no-one understands that or knows what I have to go through' voice that makes you glad she dies. "I'm going home!"  
  
"But Buffy-"  
  
Willow winced as the door slammed. With a sigh, she went back into Giles' bedroom and proceeded to roll him over. (Calm yourselves, W/G shippers, that's not what I meant ;) And anyway, he's too drunk.)  
  
"THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOW-OW-OW-OWN, THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN . . ."  
  
Cordelia gritted her teeth and pushed Doyle and Angel into the mansion.  
  
"I swear," she hissed to Xander, "if I never hear another Thin Lizzie record it'll be too soon."  
  
"Shove on the Riverdance album!" Doyle yelled. " Let's have a hooley!"  
  
Angel squinted at his watch. Or rather, at the five little singing clock- faces floating around his wrist.  
  
"Wha-what timeisit?" he slurred.  
  
"A-about two o'clock," Doyle hiccupped. "Two o'clock on a Saturday. . ." He fell over. Angel staggered over to the TV and started pushing buttons frantically.  
  
"'Sup?" Doyle slurred from the floor.  
  
"We're missing the match!" Angel replied.  
  
"Wha' match?"  
  
"The All-Ireland semi-final replay!" Angel yelled. He thumped the TV.  
  
Cordelia and Xander exchanged glances.  
  
"We won' gerri' over here," Doyle burped. "RTE don't broadcast in America . . ."  
  
Angel had another good think.  
  
"Unless . . ."  
  
Willow had just finished making Wesley comfortable when there was a hammering at the door. Cautiously, she opened it. Spike stood there, dripping wet.  
  
"Uh, hi, Spike," she said, wrinkling her nose.  
  
"Relax," Spike hiccupped. "I hosed myself down with the Watcher's . . . hose . . . Look, can I use the toilet?"  
  
"I, I don't know . . ." Willow replied.  
  
"That's okay," Spike sighed. He dropped his voice to a whisper, and murmured, "I thought the answer might be no, so I pissed in the garden."  
  
Willow grimaced.  
  
"Gonna let me in, luv?" Spike asked. "I'm cold and wet and lost. Please?"  
  
The puppy-dog eyes wore down Willow's resolve. "Okay. But you gotta behave."  
  
"Thanks, pet," Spike slurred. He staggered across the threshold and lurched over to Wesley, passed out on the couch. He had a really good look at him. "Bloody hell, Rupert's lookin' well these days . . ."  
  
"Uh, Spike?" Willow said. "That's Wesley."  
  
Spike looked at her, then examined the sleeping form on the couch more closely.  
  
"Fuck, you're right!" He looked up. "And here I was all night, thinking I was seeing double . . ." His stomach gurgled and he burped. Willow took a few steps back. Spike headed for the kitchen. " I need something to settle my stomach . . ."  
  
Cordelia stood outside the mansion and gazed up in disbelief. Xander could hardly control himself.  
  
"Man, I'd kill for a camera right now," he chuckled.  
  
"I wash my hands of both of them," Cordelia declared. "Xander, you're my witness."  
  
They watched as Angel, quietly chanting the words of 'Ace of Spades' to himself, climbed drunkenly up to the roof, and started waving the satellite dish around.  
  
"Nah, still nothin'," Doyle yelled, sticking his head out of the window. He went back inside and fiddled with a few wires. Angel staggered along the middle of the roof, defying several laws of physics, until he reached a chimney.  
  
"How's this?" he bawled.  
  
"No-wait, wait, say nothin'! I'm getting something!" Doyle shouted. "Up another bih'!"  
  
Angel climbed up on the chimney and started twirling around with the satellite dish over his head.  
  
"I can't look!" Cordelia squealed, clamping both hands over her eyes. Xander gazed up in glee and fascination. Angel was balanced precariously on the edge of the chimney, standing on one leg, holding the satellite dish at arm's length.  
  
"Just another bit ta the left!" Doyle shouted. Angel moved, overbalanced, rolled down the roof, fell several feet and landed in a rosebush, followed by the dish.  
  
"No, 's gone," Doyle called. Angel struggled to sit up. Cordelia rushed to help. Miraculously, he was unhurt.  
  
"Luck of a drunk," Xander commented.  
  
"Ah, fuckit," Angel slurred. He let Cordelia half-walk, half-drag him back inside.  
  
"What did you guys wanna watch, anyway?" Xander asked. "Soccer?"  
  
"Soccer?!" Doyle exclaimed, staring at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "SOCCER?!? We wanted to watch the hurling! The national game!"  
  
"Your national game is being sick?" Xander asked in bewilderment.  
  
Doyle got even angrier.  
  
"Ya don't even know what hurling is?!" he bellowed. "Well I'll tell ya! Thirty mad Irishmen in a field, in the lashing rain, with big . . . fists, and red hair, and skin blue with the cold because the feckin' . . . feckin' sun never gets near our . . . skin . . . and what do they do?" Xander shrugged. Doyle turned away and reached under the couch. "They give each of them . . . a big stick!" He turned back to Xander, brandishing something that looked like a hockey stick, except it had a flat round end. "The referee throws in the sliotar – which in ITSELF sounds like a weapon –"  
  
"What the heck's a . . . slitter?" Xander wondered aloud.  
  
Doyle came close and lowered his voice.  
  
"It's a little hard ball, and we wrap it in leather, so that when it does hit . . ." He bent down, reached under a chair with the stick, and fished out what looked like a large white tennis ball. He held it under Xander's nose. " . . . IT TAKES HALF THE HEAD OFF YA!" Xander backed away. Doyle threw the ball in the air, swung at it with the stick, missed, spun around, fell and banged his head on the coffee table. "Jesus Christ, me shaggin' head is destroyed!"  
  
"Well, much as I LOVE cultural exchanges . . ." Xander began, then paused to help Doyle up. Angel lurched forward and Cordelia caught him.  
  
"Hey Cordy," Angel slurred. "You got any Irish in you?"  
  
"No," Cordelia replied.  
  
Angel gave her a lopsided grin.  
  
"You want some?"  
  
Cordelia grimaced. Doyle pushed Angel aside.  
  
"Shag off," he growled. He draped an arm around Cordelia's shoulders and leered at her. "Wouldya like ta be buried with my people?"  
  
"I think it's time I put you both to bed," Cordelia declared.  
  
"Oh please," Angel hiccupped with a leer.  
  
"I'LL deal with Dead boy," Xander declared, taking Angel's arm. He walked Angel into the nearest bedroom while Cordelia made Doyle comfortable on the couch. "Here we go," he said, pushing Angel gently onto the bed.  
  
"Don't I get a kiss goodnight?" Angel slurred.  
  
"Not from me, you don't," Xander replied.  
  
"Oh well," Angel remarked. "I can wait all . . ."  
  
He fell asleep. Xander went out. Cordelia tossed a blanket over a slumbering Doyle.  
  
"You want me to stay the night?" Xander asked. Cordelia stared at him. Xander shrugged. "Y'know . . . just in case one of them tries something . . ."  
  
"I can take care of myself," Cordelia replied. " You go on home."  
  
Willow watched anxiously as Spike lurched around the kitchen. He'd already ransacked the cupboards for ingredients for a "toasted pizza sandwich", which included cheese, tomato ketchup, mushrooms, sweetcorn and onions. He'd stuffed it into Giles' sandwich maker and now he was searching for something in the cupboard near the sink.  
  
"I'm not sure you should be in there ," the redhead called nervously. "You know how tidy Giles likes to keep things . . ."  
  
Spike ignored her. "Here we go," he grunted, pulling out a bag of carrots. He stuck a frying pan on the stove and drunkenly sloshed cooking oil into it, getting most of it on himself. He turned on the stove, tossed a raw carrot into the pan, and began frying it.  
  
"Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty, won't you pleeease take me ho-ome, yeah yeah . . ."  
  
Willow just stared. Then she noticed the steam.  
  
"Spike – your sandwich –"  
  
Spike left the pan and lurched over to the sandwich maker. He opened it and had to hack through scorched and melted cheese to get the sandwich out. He dumped the snack on a plate, carefully examined the carrot, and then scooped it out of the pan. To Willow's relief, he managed not to get hot oil on himself. He put the carrot next to the sandwich, picked up the plate and staggered drunkenly to the breakfast bar. He sat down on one of the stools and motioned for Willow to join him. Nervously, Willow did so, wondering (like the author) where this was going. Spike attacked the sandwich with the knife . He cut off a piece and offered it to Willow.  
  
"Try it," he hiccupped.  
  
Willow took it gingerly, and took a bite, cursing her polite ways. She grimaced as she chewed, and forced herself to swallow. Spike watched her, awaiting a verdict.  
  
"It's . . . interesting," she declared weakly.  
  
Spike turned away in disgust.  
  
"Bleedin' Yanks, you wouldn't know good grub if it bit off yer face," he growled, taking a bite of the half-raw carrot. Willow grimaced as he demolished the sandwich. She glanced down at the carpet and wondered how easy it was to wash puke out of it. Spike finished the carrot, stumbled off the stool and patted his stomach.  
  
"Feels better," he mumbled. He lurched over to a chair, sat down, pulled out a cigarette and attempted to light it. He managed it on the seventh try , took a long drag and promptly passed out. Willow shook her head, and put the dirty plate into the sink. She turned back just in time to see Spike's smouldering cigarette slip out of his fingers and land on his oil-soaked clothes. Willow gave a yell of panic as Spike started to burn.  
  
"Fire fire fire fire!" she shrieked, then her gaze fell on the fire extinguisher nearby. Willow grabbed it, raced over to Spike, and sprayed him from head to toe with carbon dioxide. The fire was out as fast as it had started. Willow stood, panting, and staring at Spike. He was a bit singed and his face was a little sooty, but apart from that there didn't seem to be any damage.  
  
Spike stirred.  
  
"Is it hot in here?" he mumbled before dozing off again. Willow just stared, utterly stunned.  
  
"I'll get another blanket," she said to herself, before heading upstairs in a kind of daze. 


	4. Chapter 4: Hangovers from the Hellmouth

Y'Goin' for a Pint ?  
  
Chapter Four: Never Again  
  
By Cyberwulf  
  
Rated 12s (PG-13)  
  
Spoilers : None in this part.  
  
Disclaimer : Buffy, Angel and related characters belong to Joss Whedon and various other people who aren't me. The lyrics to "I'm Shady" belong to Eminem. "Something for the Weekend" belongs to The Divine Comedy. The "bag of yeast" thing belongs to my sister, and I'm not at liberty to divulge what it means. Suffice to say it refers to someone she doesn't like very much.  
  
Author's Notes : Well, this is the final chapter, and thanks to everyone who reviewed me. Without your encouragement, I'd never have gotten this far. To answer some of your comments – discreet W/S?? Where? Where?? That was never my intention! And yes, on rereading the whole thing, Doyle DOES say "shaggin'" a bit too often, but we DO use it quite a lot in Ireland – just usually as an adjective rather than a verb, as the English do. So I've given him some different curses in this part. Well, that's enough rambling – let's get on with it!  
  
The day dawned, bright and sunny. Baby birds chirped in their nests, flowers opened and exposed their delicate petals to the light. Sunnydale was awakening from its slumber, its citizens bright-eyed and bushy-tailed . . .  
  
"Ugghh . . ."  
  
Spike stirred drowsily. He opened his eyes a crack, groaning at the pain in his head. He ran a hand under his blanket and over his oil-soaked clothes, and brought his fingers to his face in an attempt to discover what the substance was. He squinted around the dimly lit room in puzzlement. "Eh?"  
  
Angel massaged his forehead as he sat at the table.  
  
"What's that awful noise?" he growled.  
  
Cordelia glanced over from the counter, where she was mixing up some blood and black, black coffee for him.  
  
"What noise?" she asked.  
  
"That loud, irritating buzzing noise," Angel replied.  
  
Cordelia's gaze fell on the glass next to Angel. "That would be the aspirin dissolving." She set the mug of blood and coffee down on the table in front of him.  
  
"Bless you, Cordelia," the vampire moaned.  
  
"Morning, everyone!" Xander called cheerfully as he came in the front door. "Isn't it a terrific morning?" He came up to Angel. "Gee, I hope no-one has a" (he leaned very close) "HANGOVER!"  
  
Angel winced, and glared at him. "Don't push me, boy."  
  
Doyle dragged himself into the kitchen. He stared sleepily at Xander, didn't recognise him, and slid into a chair.  
  
"And how are we this morning?" Xander asked chirpily.  
  
Angel glared at him.  
  
"You're loving this, aren't you?" he growled.  
  
"Ants," Doyle moaned.  
  
"What?" Cordelia asked from the stove.  
  
"Ants," Doyle repeated. "The fuckin', bastardin' ants in the garden. I can hear them walkin'." He groaned and held his head. "I thought the visions were bad . . ." He turned to Xander. "Don't ever go drinkin', so you won't?"  
  
Cordelia scraped something out of the frying pan and onto a plate, which she put down on the table.  
  
"Who wants a nice, big, greasy fried egg?" she asked.  
  
Doyle turned pale, clamped a hand over his mouth, and fled for the bathroom. Angel pushed his blood and coffee away in disgust, stood up and made his way shakily back to his bedroom. Cordelia shrugged.  
  
"Looks like it's all yours, Xander," she remarked innocently.  
  
Willow cautiously made her way to Giles' apartment. She hoped everyone was okay. She'd tried to talk to Buffy about the previous night, but the Slayer was still rightly pissed off at everyone involved. As she approached the door she heard some horrible sounds, and somebody shouting. She let herself in.  
  
"Will you stop making that REVOLTING noise, Spike?" Wesley shouted from the couch. The blonde vampire was being violently and copiously sick in the kitchen sink. All the blinds were drawn and the apartment was in semi- darkness. Wesley continued. "You know I'm ill! You're only trying to make me feel worse!"  
  
Spike finished retching, and turned his bloodshot eyes on Wesley.  
  
"Listen, no-one feels any worse than me, mate," he groaned. His stomach rumbled. "Shut up, you bastard," he warned it.  
  
"Hi, guys," Willow said nervously. "I just dropped by to see how you were . . ."  
  
Spike gave her a nasty glare.  
  
"How do you bloody think we are ?" he snarled. He put a hand on his poor abused tummy. "Fuckin' hell, what did I EAT? No, on second thoughts, don't tell me."  
  
"I've made my headache worse," Wesley moaned, holding his head.  
  
"Can-can I do anything for you guys?" Willow asked.  
  
"Yes," Spike replied. "Kill those birds." Willow backed away a little as Spike got a mad look on his face. "Lucky toothless bastards . . ."  
  
Rupert Giles came to with a splitting headache, a stomach like a washing machine, and a vague memory of being attacked by an old bag of yeast with a teapot for a head. He moaned and reached for a blanket.  
  
"How're you doing?" Willow asked quietly.  
  
"I need three buckets, a barrel and a bathtub," Giles replied miserably. Willow came and sat on the bed next to him. "Who's making all that racket downstairs?"  
  
"Spike and Wesley," Willow answered. "They're arguing over who's got the worst hangover." They both grimaced as the sound of someone being puked on followed by a girlish scream floated up from the floor below.  
  
"This is the worst I've felt in about twenty years," Giles groaned. "I have almost no memory of what happened last night . . ." He trailed off and thought for a minute. "I do have this feeling that I did something highly embarrassing . . ." He furrowed his brow. "If I could just remember –"  
  
"Um . . ."  
  
"You know, don't you?" Giles said suddenly. "Willow, please, you have to tell me. What did we do?"  
  
"Well . . ." Willow shifted awkwardly. "I'd stay away from Buffy if I were you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Um . . ." Willow squirmed. "You guys . . . kinda got arrested on national TV . . . and you . . . kinda blurted out something you shouldn't have . . ."  
  
"What –"  
  
Giles broke off suddenly as the fog lifted and the events of the previous night hit him like a sledgehammer. He put his head under the pillow and cringed for England.  
  
***  
  
It was Sunday evening. Giles was sitting in an armchair with a copy of "Lord of the Rings" but had long since given up trying to read. Buffy still wasn't speaking to him, and rumour had it that Xander had taped the episode of "Sunnydale Cops" in question and was planning to blackmail either Angel or Spike – possibly both. Wesley refused to leave Giles' house until he had perfected his paper bag. Apparently the eyeholes needed to be bigger. He sighed, and for the umpteenth time, swore he'd never do something like that again.  
  
Angel pulled up outside the apartment and blew the horn. Doyle punched a few buttons on his cell phone.  
  
"Are yiz comin' out?" he asked. "All the lads are here, it'll be a mad night!"  
  
Angel grabbed the phone.  
  
"Spike's doing his Slim Shady impression!" he said. "And I know where there's a party we can crash!"  
  
Spike wrestled the phone off his sire.  
  
"Hey Rupert!" he yelled. "We picked up this guy Ethan, says he's a mate of yours." He adjusted his white baseball cap and slipped into Eminem mode. "He's got mushrooms, he's got acid, he's got caps 'n' aspirin tablets . . ."  
  
The back doors of the car opened and Wesley and Giles jumped in.  
  
"Deadly jackets," Doyle remarked.  
  
"Real leather," Wesley replied proudly.  
  
"Ripper," Ethan said.  
  
"Ethan!"  
  
The pair of them did a complicated quasi-Masonic handshake.  
  
"Come on!" Spike shouted at Angel. "Step on the gas, y'great poof, and let's go!"  
  
Angel gunned the engine and the car took off. Doyle shoved a Divine Comedy album into the cassette player and sang along loudly.  
  
"He went down to the woodshed, the beam came down upon his head, gagged and bound and left for dead, when he woke, she was gone, with his car and all of his money!"  
  
The End 


End file.
